


In Harm's Way

by keep_me_alone



Series: Batfamily Ficlets [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bat Family, Batdaddy, Canon-Typical Violence, Family, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry Its what I DO, Injury, Masculinity, Panic Attacks, Touch-Starved, Whump, lmao in which Briar literally can't resist making commentary on healthy masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 20:05:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_me_alone/pseuds/keep_me_alone
Summary: Just a small fic where Tim gets hurt on a mission. He's like a kid or whatever so he gets scared and cries and Bruce has to fix it (his shoulder, his anxiety, his feelings of inadequacy basically all of it). Kind of a whump for Tim





	In Harm's Way

            Batman ducked under a punch, knowing it fell on the attacker behind him. One of the men ran past, whether it was from pure terror or mindlessness, he didn’t know. They crashed through the window. He cursed, bringing the heel of his palm into a woman’s face. He was too busy. But Robin wasn’t. Batman was marginally aware of Tim leaping out the window after him, tethered only by a thin rope he’d thrown at the last second. A scream rent the air, and as he glanced over, a knife ripped through Batman’s cape. He kicked the legs out from under his attacker, and flipped another man over his shoulder all in one smooth motion. The first person tried to get up, he grabbed them by the shirt and pushed them down rather forcibly, grimacing at the sound their head made on the concrete floor. The scream. Batman dashed to the window and looked down. Robin was there alright, but there was no sign of the man who’d jumped.

            “Robin?” The boy was dangling in the air, storeys above the rushing traffic.

            “My arm,” he called up. Batman cleared the window of broken glass as best he could, trying not to knock any out and onto Robin. He unwound a length of weighted rope from his utility belt and dropped it out the window.

            “Tie this to your belt. I’ll pull you up.”

            “Kay,” Robin tugged the rope. Pulling him up wasn’t too difficult, the hard part was watching to make sure the rope wasn’t fraying on broken glass. The thugs behind him were either too incapacitated or afraid to move. That was fine by him. He lifted Robin through the shattered glass, frowning when the boy stumbled against him.

            “What happened?” He growled, rolling up his rope and tucking it away. Robin shook his head.

            “I was slow.”

            “To your arm,” he didn’t give a damn about the criminal. People who jumped out windows shouldn’t expect to be saved. Robin just shook his head again. Batman grunted, gently unwinding the first rope from Robin’s glove. When it was loose he gave it a short pull. “Stupid.”

Behind the mask, Robin’s face was deathly pale. Batman's tone was harsh, but his heart was pounding “This rope has no give. You’re lucky it wasn’t longer, or you’d be splattered all over the street. Sit down, I’ll handle this.” It didn’t take him long to tie up the robbers, or to call it in to the commissioner.

            Robin was sitting on the filthy floor, leaning against a wall with his eyes closed.

            “We’re going.” Batman said, pulling Robin up. He was visibly trembling.

            “I don’t think I can walk, B.” Robin said, looking up at him.

            “Well we’re not walking, we’re jumping.” He jerked his head towards the window. If Robin hadn’t been so white already, he would have blanched. As Batman picked him up, Tim wanted to savour the feeling. Being safe in strong arms, but his shoulder was sending waves of screaming pain through him, pain that Batman’s movements did nothing to ease. He clung to the man’s neck with his good arm, trying not to think about the athletics required for Batman to hold him in one arm and his cable in the other. But then they were hurtling through the air and the edges of his vision were blurring. Robin buried his face in Batman’s neck. Now would not be a good time to pass out. And then after years or minutes, they had swung heavily into the side of a building. Robin bit his lip to keep from crying out, increasing the pressure, trying to distract himself from his shoulder as Batman lowered them to the ground.

“Still with me, kid?” Batman asked as the doors of the Batmobile hissed upwards. Robin nodded tightly, not trusting himself to speak. His legs weren’t working properly and when Batman tried to set him down, they folded under him. Batman helped him back up again and they took a few shaky steps before he could get Robin fully into the car. Tires squealed against the dark, slick pavement as Batman drove them home. He risked a quick glance over as they sped through Gotham. Tim’s eyes were closed. He’d taken off his mask, presumably to wipe his eyes, but had given up and allowed his tears to flow freely down his cheeks. He was shivering too. Batman cranked the heat, despite his own discomfort. The kid was probably in shock. He tapped his cowl and connected the Batmobile to Alfred’s line.

            “Robin injured his arm,” he said brusquely, as Alfred picked up. “He’ll need medical attention. I think the upper arm is probably broken. Not compound, but he’s not doing well.”

            “Very well sir,”

           “Pull over,” gasped Tim from the passenger side. Bruce hung up on Alfred, yanking the car to the side of the road. The force of the manoeuver caused the Batmobile to fishtail. The car was barely stopped when Tim wrenched open his door, leaning out to throw up on the sidewalk.

            “Shit,”

            “Yeah,” Tim agreed breathlessly, hauling the door shut and leaning back   

“You’ll remember to double check your gear next time.”

 Tim didn’t bother answering. They were at the cave in roughly ten minutes. Alfred was there to catch Tim as he half fell out of the Batmobile. Batman joined them, pulling off his cowl and Tim was inexplicably relieved to see Bruce’s face.

            “This way please, Master Timothy.” Alfred gestured with one arm towards a _very_ ominous looking hospital bed. It was dwarfed in the big space, accompanied only by a chair and a tray of tools. Tim was scared. He was pretty sure anyone in his situation would be. The only thing missing from this horror show was a giant spotlight. He wanted to hold Bruce’s hand. But he wasn’t a baby. And he’d known the risks of being Robin. So Tim let Alfred guide him to the bed. He sat on the edge and tried to be patient as Alfred poked painfully at his shoulder. Bruce sat by his side and although his presence was comforting, it was not enough to hold back the tears clouding his vision.

            Finally, Alfred stepped back.

            “How is he?” Bruce asked.

            “The left shoulder is dislocated, I’m afraid.” The butler answered. He searched through the nearby cart, coming up with two bottles of pills, which he handed to Bruce to open. “One of each.” Tim took the pills from Bruce and swallowed them dry, grimacing at the chalkiness.  Alfred was busily fiddling with something ominous and Tim’s chest felt tight as Bruce took his hand. He didn’t feel quite present. And then Alfred was steadying him, telling him to hold still as something long and burning was driven through his arm. As a breath escaped Tim, Bruce felt his heart contract. He squeezed Tim’s hand.

            “You’re ok.” He murmured, helping Alfred to lie Tim back.

The room was not Right, thought Tim. It was as if whatever tether keeping him grounded had lengthened. Alfred had a hand under his elbow, the other on his wrist. Tim was dimly aware that Bruce was talking to him. But his arm was on fire, falling out of its socket. Alfred struggled to stabilize Tim’s arm as he tried to squirm away, only increasing the pain spreading through him.

            “I _thought_ you sedated him,” Bruce grunted, trying to still Tim before he hurt himself further. Alfred gave him a withering look.

            “Master Timothy-,” Alfred began before Bruce cut him off.

            “He’s non-responsive. Let go.” Tim was making panicked noises, trying to wrench his arm away. “Now.” Bruce snapped. Alfred released him. Tim’s breaths were half gasps, shallow whimpers that only fueled his panic. “Please go,” Bruce asked more softly, briefly making eye contact with his friend. Alfred nodded curtly and left. Bruce pulled Tim into a sitting position to help him breathe, then let him go. Tim curled forward on himself.  

            “It’s ok. Just take a breath.” Tim tried, but his heart was racing and he couldn’t catch his breath. “Good, try again.” He was focused entirely on Bruce’s low voice, holding his hand tightly as he drew a deeper, shuddering breath. Bruce just waited him out. Waited until each inhalation was less shaky, until the shivers wracking Tim’s small frame were reduced to a fine tremor. Then, reluctantly, Bruce extricated himself and stood. He brushed Tim’s cheek with one gloved hand.

            “I’m just finding you another sedative,” He told him, rooting through Alfred’s medical supplies. He handed another small tablet to his charge with a paper cup of water. “Drink all of that, please.” Bruce removed his gloves, and tossed his cape over the chair he’d been sitting in, figuring that they’d only get in the way.

            “I’m fine,” Tim muttered, taking the pill.

            “Tim.”

The boy grumbled, but complied. Bruce was behind him, messing with something on the bed, raising it to ninety degrees. As Tim carefully leaned back, Bruce sat on the bed with him. “This isn’t going to hurt.” Bruce promised him, scooting closer. He tossed the paper cup. “Put your hand on my shoulder,” he gently took Tim’s wrist, helping him place it. Bruce held his hand over Tim’s while his other slipped between his ribcage and arm, exerting the slightest pressure. Tim sighed, letting his head fall back against the raised end of the bed.

            Bruce began to rub Tim’s bicep gently, increasing the pressure as he moved up the arm. Tim was falling asleep. The tranquilizers definitely helped, and he could barely feel whatever Bruce was doing to his arm, what with all the drugs. Bruce was rubbing the back of his neck now and Tim hummed, leaning into the touch. His arm still throbbed dully, but the pain was considerably less. And it was almost nice for once, to have Bruce’s undivided attention. Almost.

            Bruce massaged the top of Tim’s shoulder carefully applying more pressure. It was clear that Tim didn’t mind in the slightest.

            “I think we gave you too many drugs,” Bruce muttered.

            “I don’t mind,” Tim replied, his eyes still only half open. Bruce snorted.

            “Right.” He adjusted his grip on Tim’s elbow to flex his shoulder. Tim opened his eyes, not quite able to muster the energy for alarm, but instead idle curiosity. Having his shoulder rotated wasn’t particularly pleasant, but it definitely wasn’t _that_ painful. He settled back. He was very much dismayed however, when Bruce found him a sling because that required him to cut away the top of his Robin costume. It wasn’t that he’d never ruined one before, but to intentionally destroy a symbol he held so close, felt deeply wrong.

            Bruce squeezed Tim’s good shoulder distractedly as he cast a look around the batcave. It was cold down here. His gaze fell on his cape. Imperfect, but it would have to do. He wrapped Tim in it.

            “Come on kid. Time for bed.” Tim made a soft noise of agreement, his cheek pressed against the thick material of the cape. A long moment passed as Bruce waited for Tim to move. He didn’t. In fact, Bruce wasn’t entirely sure he was even still awake. The easiest recourse then, was for him to scoop Tim up and carry him to bed. Bruce did so, careful not to jostle his injured arm. A baby bird with a broken wing, he thought to himself, then shook his head, smiling slightly. Clearly they both needed some sleep. He tucked Tim into bed, pulling the covers over his shoulders. He rubbed Tim’s cheek with a thumb and the boy’s eyes opened.

            “I’m sorry I cried so much,” Tim whispered, only barely present.

            “People cry when they’re hurt Tim, or sad, or for any reason really. It’s ok.” Bruce murmured.

            “Men don’t,” Tim muttered sulkily. He was almost incomprehensible. Bruce ran his hand over Tim’s hair.

            “They do,” he said softly. “I cry, Alfred cries, we’re both men.” Bruce wondered, belatedly if Alfred with his stiff upper lip was really the best example here. He took a deep breath, mentally prepared to give Tim a whole Talking to, then realized, his breath huffing out, that Tim was already fast asleep. Bruce touched his hair again. “You’ll get there,” he murmured. Bruce paused only for a moment in the doorway. It was a moment spent considering his own masculinity, the example he was setting for this young man. But it was brief. The night was late and he had his own wounds to look after. He turned to go, but he made sure to leave Tim’s door open just a crack, just in case.


End file.
